


reddie drabbles (brought to you by Harry Styles)

by spilledanocean



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Reddie, but i still love the other losers a lot, so not as much detail for the others, these will be super reddie focused, this is sticking to cannon so prep yourselves for sad things incoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 02:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilledanocean/pseuds/spilledanocean
Summary: A retelling of some of the movie canon of IT using the atmosphere of Harry Styles self-titled album as inspiration (and as chapter titles).(Read: really just an excuse to write about reddie without the pressure of a making a long-form fic)





	1. Kiwi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wine drunk Eddie gets a sip of the past and it seems that he’s still drinking out of the same cup twenty-four years later

There was something about the cocktail of jetlag and white wine swishing through Eddie’s veins that let his mind roam. It seemed that whatever barricades he’d built within his brain had just vanished. Poof. And then everything behind that dam of insecurities came pouring out of his mouth so quickly he had no time to worry about the damage it could cause.

Eddie could not deny he was a lightweight, it had always been in the cards. So he’d learned quickly what the word ‘drunk’ really spelled out for him early on in life. The memory of his first drink flashed into his head, clear yet shaky like a projected film, as soon as the first drop of white wine hit his tongue. 

He’d been seventeen, staring down at the amber liquid in the opened bottle below him. His nose had scrunched up immediately at the smell- it was metallic, he could smell it in the air as clearly as he had then. He’d looked up quizzically at a face behind a mess of dark hair- that was Richie, it had to be- and been given a reassuring nod in response. A sign of encouragement that made the knot in his stomach unwinds slightly. And then he’d chugged the bottle, swallowing it down quickly like a vile medicine but with an abstract pride for doing so.

The clarity from the vision began to fade into quick shots of his memories, pieces obviously missing from the dark slots in between. He saw the carpeted floor, felt the rough fabric against his cheek. He heard his own laughter, a non-stop chorus of giggles that made his chest feel like it had caved in. He tasted the bitter aftertaste remnant in his mouth and found he’d come to like it. Then the image went black.

The flashback wasn’t over though. Eddie felt light, not just in theory though, he physically wasn’t carrying his own weight. Then his ears tingled at the sensation of warm breath, and he began to hear words spoken ever so softly spoken in his ears. _ Hey, Ed’s I’ve got you. I’m just going to leave you in my room, I don’t think your mom will like seeing you like this. I don’t want her to get pissed cause I told you to drink it. So you can just sleep here… until you feel better. _ His weight came back to him all at once but it didn’t feel tiring. It felt safe. Warmth spread over him, and he felt a hand card through his hair that seemed to brush away any tension in his body. _ Goodnight Eddie. _

And then reality snapped back to him, causing him to squint from how bright it was compared to the muted tones of his memories. He took a quick glance around, wondering how long he could have checked out for. But everyone else around the table was still eyeing Ben with indiscrete admiration, just as they had been moments ago. Though he agreed with an intense certainty that his childhood friend had become a beacon of attraction, he diverted his gaze to his right. Richie’s dark hair seemed to be even more familiar now than it had been, like the memory had filled in a gap in his perception. The warmth in his chest lingered even as the bustle of his friends replaced the rest of the memory’s quiet atmosphere. 

When he went to take a sip of his wine he was taken aback to find that not a single drop remained in his glass. It had only been a few minutes and yet it seemed he had downed the rest of the glass. He didn’t remember doing so. His arms were covered in goosebumps but he didn’t see how he could be cold when he also felt sweat pooling on the collar of his shirt. 

And then the dam broke and left his mind left him no time to ponder it.

All caution was thrown to the winds then. Instead, the familiar sense of his own hesitation was replaced with a bubbly feeling that roared in his chest and made him giggle contagiously. It didn’t matter that Richie’s jokes were never funny because in the moment he was the pinnacle of comedy. The others around the table seemed to feel the same, though a nagging feeling in his head told him that his responses were always the loudest. 

And then they were arm wrestling and the bubbles seeped into his bloodstream. He was carbonated and the shake in his arms gave it away. He had to let some of it out, the energy too much to keep trapped in his veins. 

“Let’s take off our shirts and kiss!”

Alarms rang at the back of his head but he ignored them just as he had when everything in him had been shouting “Don’t go back to Derry!” after Mike phoned him. Now, here he was in Derry and everything felt fine. Better than fine. He knew fine, lived most of his days as fine. This was good. And he wasn’t about to let his internal warnings system tell him otherwise.

So for the first time in.. well ever, he let himself enjoy the sensation of Richie’s hand tightly grasping his own. He wasn’t even trying to win and he was sure that his opponent knew as much. It seemed like Richie didn’t care, drawing out the match as if he liked the contact. And Eddie silently prayed that was the case.

As the night went on, his head progressively sunk deeper and deeper into his palm yet his attention remained undivided, eyes locked on to Richie’s chest. His bubbly energy had left him and he began to feel heavy- like gravity had flicked back on. He was sinking and he made no effort to fight it, letting his legs slide down the chair precariously. He knew he was going to fall soon enough, make an ass of himself in front of the others, but a guilty part of him was strongly hoping for it. If he fell, maybe Richie would pick him up. Like he had before.

His elbow buckled underneath his head as his own body jilted forward. He expected the crash on the ground, to feel the hardwood floors of the restaurant scuff his knees or for his head to smack the table on the way down. He’d be injured surely, he knew well enough. But his body didn’t ring out in pain.

Sheepishly he peered up, to find a hand in his peripherals, holding his shoulder back. He hadn’t fallen. Richie had caught him. His shoulder seemed to seer with heat but he didn’t pull away.

“You okay?”

Eddie nodded back in response and the grip from his shoulder released, the skin under his sleeves going cold at the loss of touch. 

“You’re still a fucking lightweight. You haven’t changed one bit.”

Richie had remembered. He’d seen the same flashback, Eddie was sure of it. Even as he went to argue back, to claim the fall was from anything else, he knew it came out as total bullshit. He was okay with that though. 

Because Richie hadn’t changed either.


	2. Carolina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being flooded with all your memories at once is not easy, especially when all of them are about one person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't meant to be the same events of last chapter but in Richie's POV but here we are. 
> 
> Also, I'm not sure why but I've really thrown out the whole "never start a sentence with 'and' " rule with these and I am sorry. (I never do this so it's weird for me too).

Remembering Derry was like taking that first jump down into the chilling waters of the Quarry. Richie had spent so long teetering one toe off the edge of the cliff and then backing up, wishing he could take the plunge into the murky water below but also fearing what could happen if he did. 

That’s what it felt like when the barrage of memories came to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to remember but he also didn’t. There was good in his childhood here, he was sure of it, but there was also bad mixed in with it. Like the sinking feeling that something really fucked up had happened here- in Derry. Though the worst of it was the guilt that circled around the good memories, the shameful realization that maybe he was a bit too happy in some of them.

But it was inevitable that he would take the plunge, just like he had at the Quarry. So as he sat, parked in front of the Jade of the Orient, he let those pesky memories into his head. 

It was a mistake.

More specifically, remembering Eddie Kaspbrak was a mistake.

It was like recalling an ex from years prior- you know that it’s over, that leaving was for the better, but you’ll be damned if the stuff you miss about them doesn’t come popping up out of anywhere.  _ He was so fucking cute with those short shorts, the absolute tease. He was so funny when he’d rattle off about how unsanitary everything was. He was so brave when he stood up to his shitbag mother.  _ It was a non-stop greatest hits playlist of Eddie and Richie could not turn it off. Not alone in his car, not when he greeted Bev and Ben, and absolutely not when he spotted him stood in the restaurant.

For fear of blurting out one of the thousands of thoughts taunting his mind, Richie immediately turned to his favourite coping method- jabs at Eddie’s mom. It did little to help him though because Eddie’s response was an exact duplicate of himself as a kid: rustled the wrong way and stupidly adorable in the way he rolled his eyes. Richie’s heart fluttered in response, something he wasn’t sure he’d experienced in the last twenty-seven years save for a few, less sickeningly sweet- more actually concerning, occurrences. 

Then they’d sat down and Richie had immediately demanded they had to splurge on drinks, “For reunion’s sake”, but really for the sake of easing the hellish torture of his twisting gut. Under the table his thumb was brutally pressed against his palm, willing himself not to vomit.

Then he was stuck on Eddie’s wrist. A weird place to be fixated on, yes, but it seemed important for some reason.  _ He’s still got a watch. Why did he always wear a watch?  _ He wracked his brain for an answer he knew was there, hiding somewhere in the clutter of newly transplanted memories.  _ Shit. His medicine. He timed it. It went off every goddamn hour it was annoying. I wanted to chuck that thing on the road so bad.  _ Richie suddenly had the distinct urge to reach over and rip the accessory right off his wrist. But he didn’t, because it was apparently his turn to share something about his new and ‘improved’ life.

This, ultimately, was another reason why remembering everything sucked- because his life had never looked duller than when it was compared against the bright and action-filled scenes of his memories. So he made another joke, “Yeah dude, me and your mom…” (he’d certainly gotten back into his rhythm with those) and shoved the rest aside.

Next, it was Eddie’s turn to share and Richie was trying his hardest to keep his genuine curiosity at bay. He forced himself to stay leaned backwards, letting Eddie’s speech be thrown into the mix of the other conversations in the restaurant. But he heard it all loud and clear regardless. Eddie had gotten married. 

No big deal, they were forty and this was normal. But it didn’t feel right- like he should have known before now- and before he could bite his tongue on the matter he had to ask, “What, to like a woman?”

_ Fuck.  _

Eddie took it as an insult, but he wasn’t exactly relieved about that. It had taken him off the hook, sure, but it wasn’t what he meant. He wanted an answer. Though, now he realized that he likely knew it anyways. So why the fuck had he asked?

After that, Richie couldn’t help but force his eyes to look anywhere else even when they always ended up glancing back at Eddie, like that was where he was meant to look. He didn’t want to look though because every time he did a new similarity from the past would be highlighted.

_ His eyes are still just as wide and innocent-looking, his fingernails are still neatly filed, his hair is the same shade of brown that compliments his complexion so well. _

Each one was a new revelation he had to experience, a new reason for him to like Eddie, a new reason to…. Nope, he was  _ not  _ going to finish that thought.

The itching feeling that this reunion dinner would remain unbearable for the rest of the night did, thankfully, fade away. Ensuring that his beer glass was constantly full had finally paid off and suddenly his brain didn’t feel as clogged. None of his thoughts had gone away but they didn’t seem so pressing anymore- like they were just floating there for the time being. And that was surprisingly enough for him to relax with them.

_ Holy shit, his hand is so small. Has it always been this small or do I just have huge, fucking hands? And it’s smooth, damn him and his moisturizer. Only he would regularly use that stuff, but then his hands feel so nice after. _

_ Wait. We’re arm wrestling right now. I’m supposed to be winning this shit. _

His focus kicked back into gear and he easily slammed Eddie’s hand down on the table. If Eddie knew he hadn’t been trying for most of the match, he sure didn’t show it. Relief wavered over Richie as he wiped away the sweat clinging to his forehead. 

The energy of the group carried him through most of the night. They were captivated by him, but not as an audience. They were his friends. They groaned at his jokes and yelled retorts back at him, but they were laughing as well.  _ Eddie  _ was laughing. He knew the sound well enough that it stuck out amongst the crowd of voices, and it made Richie’s heart swell. 

Even later, when it seemed Eddie was two seconds away from passing out, Richie could still hear him exhale a little out of his nose. 

And then Eddie had nearly slid right out of his seat, and Richie had instinctively slapped a hand on his shoulder just before he’d dropped to the floor. And it all felt far too familiar.  _ This has happened before. Why the fuck do I remember him dropping out of his chair?  _ It frustrated him too much that his shitty returned memories were so present in his head but he could never fully recall them when he needed to. His hand remained fully stuck on Eddie’s shoulder, hand gripping on to the fabric like a lifeline as he went searching the expanse of his head for an answer.

They were teenagers. Seventeen. Eddie had been drunk and Richie knew he was the reason. He saw himself hand the smaller boy a bottle, nod reassuringly at him, and then he felt the jolt of shock course through his veins when Eddie had downed the whole fucking thing. He’d been so astonished and… And turned on. Then Eddie went hyper to the max- more so than usual. He’d been so fucking giggly-  _ that’s  _ where he remembered his laugh from. 

Slowly Eddie’s energy had died down though, his body slumped against the table in Richie’s kitchen. But his eyes were wide open and alert, watching Richie so intently that it had made the back of Richie’s neck burn. Ed’s was too tired though and he’d fallen straight out of his chair and hit the floor. Richie was by his side before he could even remember getting out of his own seat. 

His gut clenched at the image of Eddie on the floor, feeling the same intense worry that had destroyed him in that moment.  _ Shit what if if he’s unconscious? What the fuck did I just do? Think Richie think. Check if he’s breathing… Fuck, okay he’s alive. _

“Richie?” 

Eddie had moaned so softly that Richie would’ve missed it had he not been so close. 

And then his vision started to blur.  _ Now isn’t the time to be crying goddamnit. He needs rest not some dumbass sobbing over him.  _ So he shakily lifted the boy into his arms, one arm around his back and the other looped underneath both his legs. And, with as much certainty as he could muster (which was not much), he whispered to Eddie that he’d be okay. He wasn’t even sure he would hear it but he continued speaking to him anyways

He took Eddie to his bedroom and laid him down on the bed, unsure of what else he could do without alerting his parents that their son had dragged some kid into getting wasted while they were out. So he tucked him in and guiltily ran a hand through his hair. 

That was twenty-seven years ago. Now he was forty and had most definitely been gripping Eddie’s shoulder for a period of time long past appropriate. 

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie would be fine. He hadn’t fallen- and even if he had, hitting the floor wasn’t going to kill him or anything. Richie wasn’t stupid, he knew this. 

Still, he didn’t lift a finger from his grip on his shoulder until Eddie nodded in response. 


End file.
